The Awakening
by Femme Bono
Summary: Liz IS special, but so are Red and the rest. UNABASHEDLY AU. No, I do not own anything to do with the Blacklist, nor do I make any money from this.
1. Chapter 1

Cht 1

Liz sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to peel off her work clothes, climb under the covers and sleep for a week, avoiding all human contact. _Helluva birthday_ , she thought as she shuffled through the doorway, locking it securely behind her, and sighed again in the general direction of the kitchen before hitting Wing Yee's on speed dial. Screw cooking, she was no good at it anyway.

Compromising slightly since the sitter was on her way over with Agnes, Liz traipsed back to her room and stripped naked, yearning to stay that way, but instead tugging on a pair of yoga pants and an old Quantico sweatshirt before walking back out to the kitchen as she scratched her rumbling belly. She had a strange yen for a nice warm bath, or better yet, a swim at the local Y. Definitely not the time for that though, she reasoned, and she was _famished_. Still waiting for Rosa to show up with her baby girl in tow, Liz swung into the kitchen and copped a pint of Bourbon Pecan Praline Haagen Dasz. _Just what the doctor ordered_ , she told herself.

"Happy birthday Liz," she said out loud, between the first and second spoonful. She flopped dejectedly on the couch, wondering why she didn't take Red or even Samar up on either of their offers to go out tonight. Her thirtieth birthday hadn't hit her this hard, but her thirty-fifth loomed before her tomorrow, she groaned, and it just seemed like such a depressing age—mainly because she had still not hit any of the milestones she expected to by this time. Well…not exactly true, she mentally admonished herself. She had a little one, she thought, smiling at a small framed picture of her baby on the side table. She had been married, such as that was, and tried not to dwell on the fact that Tom decided to stay with his family once he found them. She was a full-fledged FBI agent, with a full plate at work and a frustrating CI to keep her abundantly busy. But she felt so unsettled… and what's worse, she could not quite put her finger on why. She had fully expected to _still_ be married, and maybe have settled into a comfortable family life by now. Maybe that was it, she thought as the doorbell rang, jarring her from her thoughts.

Two hours later, with a belly full of sweet and sour pork, she finally crashed out on the couch after putting Agnes down for the night. The harsh blue light of the tv washed over her, along with the buzzing murmur of the 24-hour news cycle.

* * *

She woke sometime in the middle of the night when she rolled off the couch, gasping for air and clawing to get her clothes off. In an instinctive panic she started crawling to the bathroom as a loud crash sounded at the door and a pair of strong hands grasped her, hauling her up and clamping arms around her as she began to struggle. Her gut clenched at the thought of some intruder breaking into her house while she was so vulnerable, but a familiar and somewhat comforting voice in her ear stopped the worst of her struggling as she recognized it was Reddington who had her. And he was taking her to the bathroom. Yet as she continued to gasp for breath and pull at her clothes, she realized that Dembe was quickly stoppering the tub and turning the tap on full blast before rushing back out toward the kitchen. Liz was dimly aware of the kitchen faucet running and the clattering sound of cupboards being opened as Dembe rummaged through dishes.

Meanwhile Red was busily stripping her down, her own efforts only seeming to hamper him, but she couldn't rid herself of the suffocating feeling. She felt near passing out as he dumped her unceremoniously into the lukewarm water. Liz fought him as he forced her head down under the swiftly running water. Her legs in the air, she kicked and struggled a moment before realizing that she was breathing…better. She gasped a lungful of water and instead of coughing and choking, she felt a rush of oxygen into her system and a strange swishing as she breathed the water out of her mouth. It was the strangest sensation, but she felt immediately better and stopped struggling as Dembe returned to her view with a large bucket of water he poured into the tub beside her to help fill it faster.

Red still held her, more gently this time as she had stopped struggling and lay complacently in the bottom of the tub, trying to calm down and get a good grasp of the situation. Dimly, through the water, she heard Agnes's muffled cries. Dembe stepped back out saying he would check on her, as she likely woke up from all the noise. Red nodded grimly as Lizzie blinked back at him, bubbles frothing up from her breathing more regularly now. He smiled at her for the first time, concern still etching its way across his forehead.

"Better?" he asked hopefully.

Liz nodded, confusedly, then caught sight of her legs. Except they were no longer legs, which earned another gasp from her. _No way_ , she mouthed under water. A long, slinky iridescent green blue fin flopped against the shower wall. She whooshed out water and tried to sit up. The moment she did, she exhaled what water was still in her lungs and as she broke the surface, breathed air. It felt a little dry and less oxygen dense, but okay. She fought another rise of panic at the thought of her legs, but Red quickly shushed her.

"They'll come back once you've calmed down, and eventually you'll learn to make yourself shift," he said, placing a placating hand on her arm draped over the side of the tub. Dembe stepped to the door with a sleepy, cranky Agnes in his arms.

Liz, her mouth still wide open in shock croaked out a, "hi baby, Mommy's okay," before Dembe moved out again and kept walking and talking to the baby to calm her.

She looked back at Red, who continued explaining, "the first time is involuntary, kind of like morning wood when you hit puberty," he chuckled. Liz huffed out a frustrated breath, still at a loss for words.

"What the hell?" she finally blurted out.

Red smiled winningly, "the phrase 'mermaid' sounds so _fanciful_ , doesn't it?"

Liz made a squeak of protesting disbelief, despite all signs to the obvious. She still wasn't entirely sure it wasn't an ice cream and Chinese food-induced dream. _Nightmare_? She cocked her head as her lower body shifted a bit and with a strange pulling and tickling sensation, the scales melded into skin and her single fin separated into legs once again. She ran her hands over her thighs and took a deep breath.

"Mermaid…" she looked up at him, thoroughly overwhelmed. She didn't know what to ask first.

"Different names and stories from different cultures," Red ventured slowly, nodding. "'Mermaid' is simply the most common. Selkies, sirens…myths always have a grain of truth to them."

He brushed a hand over Liz's hair, then picked up a towel and offered it.

"You'll need a good deal of explanation, I think."

"Huh," was all she could muster.

"I'll make some coffee while you get dressed."


	2. Chapter 2

Cht 2

She could hear Reddington's voice in her ear, as the things he told her in the early hours of the morning came swimming back up to the surface of her weary brain while she worked her way through the security checkpoint at the Post Office the next morning. _Rusalka_ , he had said. That's what they called it in her mother tongue. "A water spirit, or water nymph," he'd told her. "Beautiful young women who sometimes were blamed with luring people to their deaths. With Sirens in the Mediterranean it was supposedly by song. Most of that is legend and myth that grew up surrounding the actual story."

"What's the story?" she remembered asking.

"You're special, sweetheart," he breathed, with near reverence. "We all are," he finished with a cocky smirk as he stood framed in the kitchen doorway after her midnight swim. She had sat on the couch, drinking in every word, glancing occasionally at Dembe.

"In Africa," he supplied quietly, "you would be called _jengu_."

"Wh-what are you?"

Dembe flashed a smile, " _Aziza_ ," he nodded at Liz's perplexed frown. "The Celts called us _Grogoch_ , the Persians say _Djinn_ , _brownies_ are more…well known. We are helper spirits. Great magic, in small ways."

She looked expectantly at Red, who had gracefully lowered himself into a nearby chair and propped an ankle casually over the opposite knee.

"Yes Lizzie," he smiled, "I am an unseelie, another solitary fae. Again, many names…Gancanagh, Grey Man, Will o the Wisp…a lot of the myths all meld together after a while, overlapping in places. Some separate and different myths crop up, separating the traits of one being into many. Fae have many attributes and abilities. You'll see."

* * *

Liz stepped out of the elevator, her head still buzzing with the night's events and copious amounts of caffeine. Red promised that he would be in later with a new Blacklister and additional information for her. He assured her that she need not worry about shifting again, as she could calm herself if she needed.

"Do what you've always done Lizzie," he told her, pointing a finger at her hand. "Stroke your mark for comfort and remember that the power resides in you to change. You will see soon that you can do so much more than just shift, but it won't be without its rough patches."

Liz did not quite yet know what all to even ask, let alone what she was likely to be able to do. Magic, "shifting," as Red called it…what else? Were her parents like this? Even after Red and Dembe left shortly before dawn, she lay back on the couch with questions swirling through her mind. So many, she couldn't grasp one single thought to focus on. Overwhelmed did not even describe…

And now here she was at work, on no sleep, wondering if people were looking at her, noticing anything different, all the while wondering if they too were _different_.

"Morning," Ressler grunted, "you ah, have a rough night last night?"

Liz started. "Jesus, does it show that much?" She wondered fleetingly if it was lack of sleep, or something else he saw.

"You look like I felt the first time," he said smiling wanly.

Her jaw dropped.

"You—"

"Red cap," he said simply. "Back home they called us _nain rouge_. Basically warrior beings. The legends that rose around what we are said that we haunted battlefields. That's BS though. Really we're just drawn to the fight—whatever the fight is. Good, bad, some make great mercenaries…magical martial _skills_." He grinned.

Liz all but rolled her eyes. "Should we really be talking about this here?"

"Well yeah," he said shrugging, "we've all kind of wondered if that isn't why Reddington picked you. Samar thinks he knew. Aram thought he knew because he was your…well, father. But I guess in light of recent events, it's just because he knew your parents somehow. They must have both been fae, which means you automatically would be."

Liz filed that away as something to ask Reddington. "And Samar and Aram?"

" _Shedim_ ," said Aram's tentative voice from behind her. "Guardian slash protector spirit," he said, puffing up his chest slightly.

Liz spun to see both of them and grimaced, a little chagrined at Samar's smug expression, but smiled as Aram tipped a finger to his brow in salute.

"And I am a _daeva_ ," Samar supplied, "which are supposed to be downright villainous. But most all of us fae are perceived by organized religions as everything from false gods to demons or creatures."

"Red called it the 'longest running smear campaign'."

"People fear what they don't know, and they fear the powerful. And that's exactly what we are," Samar explained, "just longer-lived beings with a little…extra. Which is why we operate sub rosa."

"But not…immortal."

"Not immortal exactly," Ressler piped up, "but we live way longer than most humans, and we can't be killed by any weapon forged by man."

Liz nodded slowly. At least everything they were saying matched up with what Red and Dembe told her. "So…how old—"

"We're all our age," Aram put in, knowing exactly where she was going. "It's just—well, you're the youngest and only the Awakened know what's up so—I mean, now we can talk about it openly."

"Everyone reaches their Awakening at their thirty-fifth year. Kind of a rite of passage when we hit our prime," said Ressler. "I spent mine staying up all night with our task force, raiding a safehouse. My powers kicked on full force and I tore a swath through the place. I at least had a clue what was liable to happen. My father was, my uncle, grandfather. People's specific traits and abilities run down through the family."

As he said this, something clicked. A niggling suspicion she had suddenly formed into a full-blown hypothesis. She would have to ask Reddington. And if he was not forthcoming, she would find out herself.

"I have so many questions," she began.

"How about we flesh some of those out over lunch?" Samar suggested. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to hang out last night. To see what questions you might have or help out if you were caught completely by surprise, as I suspect you were."

This time Liz did roll her eyes. "Reddington at least said that he should have said more before."

"Of course he did," Ressler replied grimly, "because he's such a wealth of information."

"He did sit up most of the night with me," Liz offered, "and broke in just in time to _almost_ keep me from panicking."

"So…what are—"Aram started, "sorry. How did your heritage present itself?"

"Oh!" Liz answered, jolted. "Right. I'm a…mermaid."

That sounded _**so**_ strange out loud.

Samar laughed out loud even as Ressler's eyebrows winged up.

"Wow," Aram marveled, "those are rare, even for us. So any strange cravings or anything with that?"

"One very strong desire to swim a marathon."

"Cool," said Samar, clearly impressed.

"So I guess sushi's out for lunch," Ressler all but snorted.

"Alright," Cooper cut in from the balcony above. "Let's get everybody rounded up at the front. Security says Reddington's on his way down."

"Yes," said Reddington as he strode out of the elevator, "and we have a new Blacklister," he looked at Samar, "with a little extra."


	3. A note

A few notes on this: first, as I write it, the DNA test was not so much a plot device as it was a final answer... and in my Blacklistverse AU, that answer was a big fat NO. For the longest time, the way they played it made it seem that the "blond American" was a separate entity from Raymond Reddington, and therefore I have continued to play it that way. Therefore, Raymond Reddington is the man we all know and love, whilst the blond American was the man she shot the night of the fire - - her father.

Added to that, when Tom ran off to meet and work with dear old Mom, he wound up staying. They still have loose ends to work out between them, and yes he is still Agnes's father in all respects, and that will still need to be resolved somehow.

Beyond that, I hope everyone is enjoying the magic and mystery of the task force and Red's team having a little bit ' extra '. Anyone who is a fan of the fantasy genre will probably see elements of everything from Laurell K Hamilton to JK Rowling, and possibly even some Neil Gaiman / Terry Pratchett.

This is also going to put a very big spin on the cabal, and as a result the Blacklisters they chased down before will basically be a practice round to what's coming now!


	4. Chapter 4

Cht 3

"So," Liz said, hands raised to her sides as Red waited for everyone to gather round. "What is this Blacklister?"

Drawing it out, Red waited until there was a semicircle around him and he had everyone's full attention. "A goblin market."

"A wha—a goblin…market," Liz answered.

The rest simply looked perplexed. Ressler snorted.

"Goblin markets are regulated under NAFTA provisions and are policed by Interpol," Cooper put bluntly. "It's basically the international shipping channel of the fae. That's not really our jurisdiction."

"Well it is when there's a Blacklister running contraband metals across state lines, using trafficked goblins for a free labor force. Hironymous Flynt."

Aram turned his chair back toward his computer screen and began typing furiously, checking all the usual channels for anything relating to Hironymous Flynt.

"What contraband metals?" Samar asked.

"Meteoric iron."

"Are they building weapons? What are they doing with blackmarket iron?" Ressler added.

"Building weapons, or more likely selling the ore to arms dealers who will make weapons themselves, either way it's dirty pool."

Aram raised a tentative hand to get everyone's attention.

"Agent Mojtabai?"

"This says Hironymous Flynt is an entrepreneur and philanthropist from the UK. If he's not a citizen, we'll have to bring in MI6—"

"We won't have to bring them in."

"Of course," he replied, somewhat disbelievingly. "We don't have to do that."

* * *

At Red's insistence, Ressler and Samar would intercept the goblins hauling contraband iron while he and Liz set off for Flynt's Rochester home in upstate New York. An hour and a half outside of DC, Ressler kept driving past the turn for the nearest Indian mounds.

"Are we not going to Moundsville?" Samar wondered. Ressler shook his head.

"The goblins operate a little bit further out than that," he said, as he kept driving west.

"How much further out?"

"Ohio," he said flatly.

"What's in Ohio?"

"Not much," he grimaced.

* * *

Meanwhile, Lizzie mused at how gorgeous Rochester was once they touched down at the airport. They traveled past the wide expanse of Lake Ontario as Braddock Bay stretched out beside them, lined with lush trees and lapping water, and again Lizzie yearned to swim.

Red leaned in close, "we'll go soon," he purred in a gravelly voice. It sent chills skating across her skin and Liz fought the urge to lean into his warmth against the buttery leather seats and let him nip at her neck. More and more her compulsion to be near him—and frankly, every other fae in her presence—had her swallowing hard and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Her sex drive lately seemed to be in overdrive, and it was all she could do not to straddle him. Or climb up front with Dembe. She wondered briefly if she wasn't just weirdly, _strongly_ premenstrual or if the Awakening had brought on something altogether different.

Dembe rolled the Mercedes up the long avenue toward the house, then turned into a circular drive at the front.

A valet appeared at the door the moment the car stopped and once Reddington was out of the car, he stepped up to hold out a hand for Liz. As soon as her skin made contact with his, she somehow knew he was a regular mortal. She wondered how that worked, as surely he must know that his employer was…otherworldly.

They were welcomed into a sitting room shortly thereafter as a tall, gaunt man rose rigidly from his armchair in front of the fire.

"Hirom, you old rascal!" Red exclaimed, his arms stretched wide for a hug.

"Oh Reddington, _must_ you be so effusive," Hironymous yawned, in a nasal accent that clearly said Oxford or Cambridge.

He stuck out a hand and offered a polite shake after making a show of standing stiffly through the hug and brushing non-existent wrinkles out of his suit jacket.

"To what do I owe the pleasure," he asked, easing back into his seat.

"I thought I'd make an offer on your business," Red said winningly as Hironymous scoffed, "at a discounted rate."

"Raymond, surely you jest."

"On the countrary, I think it's a splendid idea."

"I'm sure you do, however, I see no reason why I should sell such a lucrative business."

"Your business is about to crumble," Red said, his voice hardening. "I have reason to know that the authorities are setting up a sting on one of your delivery sites and figured instead of letting the competition take itself out, I'd offer you a convenient exit."

"You agree to pay me 20 percent of your lucrative profits for telling you where and when, and I'll give you enough time to make your escape and pass your business on to yours truly."

"Reddington, I can't—you bloody— _you_ probably did this! There's been talk _you_ are the FBI's informant. Ever since you took up and were seen on camera, no less, with this _baggage_!"

He aimed a spindly finger in Liz's direction and rose with much more alacrity than before.

"I shall simply suspend all operations for the time being, and get to the bottom of this myself."

"Hironymous, I strongly suggest you abandon all operations instead. Goblin trafficking, contraband, iron," Red sucked his breath through his teeth and shook his head, grimacing. "That would be an ugly business if it came out that the international human rights humanitarian got caught up in such an illicit trade."

"Reddington, I said good day."

Red simply nodded, looking chagrined, and rose. Liz followed swiftly after him, hissing at him as they climbed in the car.

"You tipped him off?! He's going to tip off whoever is working the deal and call it off!"

"On the contrary," Red said tersely, "what he'll do is see to it himself, head for the nearest and biggest trade center and try to head them off. Little will he realize that by the time Ressler and Samar stage their raid, he will likely be a ground zero. Quashes his ability to feign ignorance on what practices his trade supervisors are dipping into on his watch."

Liz eased back into the seat, fulminating on what he said. If true, and he likely knew exactly what the old gentleman's tendencies would be, Flynt was as good as busted, right along with the smugglers.

"Now," Red said, feeling the need for a subject change, "what about that swim, Lizzie?"


	5. Chapter 5

Cht 4

Liz could not believe Red's suggestion. Not only did it feel _oh so exposed_ almost right off the highway, but the water had to be _frigid_ up here. Red and Dembe stood behind her, both leaning against the car, looking across it into the wide expanse of forest beyond—politely facing away so she could undress and dip into the water. She felt awkward. How was this supposed to work exactly?

Liz toed off her shoes and left them on a nearby picnic table, still wanting to protest the idea of skinny dipping in a public park in the broad daylight. As she began stripping, periodically darting a look around not only to make sure the men weren't looking over their shoulders, but to make sure no one else appeared to be around, Liz could not deny her yen to swim. The gentle slosh of the water on the reedy edge of the lake pulled at her. She could smell it and practically feel it gliding over her skin already. She shuddered with a type of need she never knew she had.

As quickly as possible, wanting the cover of the water, Liz highstepped over to the water's edge and dipped in a toe. Chill though it was, that first fluid touch was enough to have her taking a shuddering breath and diving straight in, lunging toward the edge of the sandy shelf, so she could glide into deeper waters.

She inhaled involuntarily at that first cool shock, and breathed free for what felt like the first time since her baptismal birthday dousing. Her skin absorbed the crisp cold of the water, as she acclimatized to it. Liz opened her eyes, expecting to see dense, murky water. Instead everything appeared sharp and clear to her vision, from the silty sediment on the bottom, to the mossy green grasses growing on the bottom. Fish swam up to her as if saying hello. She laughed as one skirted its way down her belly and did circles around her. Schools of salmon swished past and then reversed direction as if to show off.

Liz started to dart inward, toward deeper waters but suddenly dozens of schools and even the grasses swayed directly into her path. She felt, rather than heard or saw, them speak. Instinctively they conveyed that to go deeper meant to risk sickness. The waters were not truly clean, they pushed at her. And absorbing their message, she sent back a sentiment that she would do what she could to help. Rather than trying to push forward to see first-hand what they meant, she took the warning and skirted close to the edge, staying in the shallower waters and swimming this way and that. She gave herself a good strong swish of her tailfin to launch, streaming through the water, just to see what full speed felt like. She rocked in the wake of a speed boat and sent a silent thanks to the fishes for keeping her out of harm's way. She gazed marveling at her own hands when she realized that her fingers had gossamer thin webbing between them.

Her yearning to swim sated, she streaked back toward the place where she had entered and poked a head up over the surface. A thick fog enveloped the area, so deep and thick in fact, that she would have no problem gliding out of the lake water and back to her clothes. She could barely make out the lake's edge, and stood, stepping gingerly out over the debris floating near the bank. Liz felt the thickness of the fog around her, warming her skin as it shifted and changed, almost ghosting across her body as sweet as a lover's caress. She dimly made out the outline of the picnic table and crossed to it, a soft fluffy towel sat on top waiting. Red thought of everything, she thought. Or maybe it was Dembe. Either way, she sent up a silent thank you as she dried off and got dressed. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt rather than heard a soft "you're welcome" from Red, and had the sense that somehow and from somewhere he was aware of her even though she couldn't see him.

* * *

Meanwhile states away, Ressler and Samar arrived at their destination.

"Amazing," Samar breathed reverently. "Who built this?"

"The Adena supposedly," Ressler answered simply, thankful at last to have made it. It was full dark, the park closed to visitors, yet judging by the lights in the distance, they were not completely alone. Faery fire glowed dimly through the treeline. Any passersby may have mistaken them for fireflies, and still others may mistake it for swamp gases, but none would never get close enough to take a better look.

"The Shawnee had a serpent spirit though named Kinepikwa. It may not be huge and imposing like a lot of Indian mounds, but the Serpent mound stretches a long way back. Right into the fort underneath."

"Fair enough," said Samar, still marveling at the shape of the low lying, snake-shaped mound. She stepped forward to the end of it and drew her hands up, cupping them toward the moon overhead. The air in front of her shimmered like heat waves rising over the ground. There was almost a palpable sense of the place beyond, a denseness, thickness in the air. She could feel people behind the veil, a loud raucous noisy crowd-likely at an in-between meeting venue which was typical of these places. There were usually bars, busy restaurants, inns for travelers just on the other side of the curtain between realms.

Samar stepped through, with Ressler close behind.

"Welcome folks!"

Sure enough, a husky bartender smiled at them as they stepped through, a small foyer just on the other side of the wavering portal. They felt the subtle buzz of energy as they stepped in fully and glanced around. A large, ornately carved oaken bar stood along the entire left side of a massive great hall. Several barkeeps and barbacks worked behind it, and rows of tables scattered throughout the center of the hall were full of patrons. A stage flanked the opposite side, hewn from the sandstone that comprised the entire right wall. On the far end, a similarly carved fireplace burned what appeared to be natural gas, straight out of the depths of the earth below.

"So where are we headed?" Samar queried, her eyes and ears picking up everything from snatches of conversation to mentally mapping out possible exit points in case of emergency.

"All the way down by the fireplace," Ressler said, nodding toward a door at the end of the hall. "The market is just beyond that door. Vendors of all kinds, stalls, shops… you name it. The usual. But the place Reddington is sending us to is beyond even that. Almost out of the rath entirely."

"What are we looking for exactly?"

"He said we'll know when we see it."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: and with the imposter reveal in place, it is time to start writing once again! This story, however, continues with its original premise – that Reddington is our man, whilst dear old Dad was the as yet unnamed "blond American." Happy reading! Just an update for now…**

Cht 5

Samar and Ressler cleared through the thoroughfare that ran the length of Serpent Mound without a whiff of anything out of the ordinary. Shop stalls, vendors hawking their wares, looking at them as they passed, packing trays and flats of crystals, large hanks of dried herbs, vats, or in some cases Crock Pots of brews, all perfectly legit and above board, Ressler mused. It was a good ten minutes down a dim path that they started to feel the telltale signs of magick afoot and mixed into the atmosphere. A heavy geas laid about the place. They had taken the left fork as instructed, nearly a quarter mile back, and as he reasoned, should nearly be on top of the place by now. The air felt heavy and dense, thick with a sensation compelling them to turn back and hurry away.

"Do you feel it?" Samar queried, her voice muffled in the dense quiet.

"Ayuh," Ressler turned his head slowly, this way and that, trying to see the unseen.

But Samar _could_ see something, almost a shimmering, flickering, just beyond the field of vision. "They're there," she said, nodding in the direction she was looking. "To the densest part of the underbrush. I feel a portal there."

And feel it she could. There was a whispering skim over the skin that felt like fingertips brushing ever so lightly over her arms as she raised them. Ressler aimed a little prodding nudge of magick in the same direction, a pulse of energy against the invisible barrier. Combined with the tingling spark from a flick of Samar's fingers, it dropped the entire glamor of deflection magick like a curtain away from the scene that stood exposed before them.

In a large clearing, several short, squat people stood, lined along a row of trees, a gangly auctioneer off to the side whilst twenty or so others sat, auction paddles at the ready with their backs to the watching agents. Slowly they turned and looked behind them as they felt the disturbance in the air when the geas lifted.

"Best close up that portal _fast_ ," Ressler clipped even as the first few of them started to bolt for the exit points. Even as they did, a tactical team materialized out of nowhere, casting a magical net over the crowd. Tac team members ringed the crowd, flanking to the left and right around Ressler and Navabi while she turned her attention and powers against the shimmering portal just inside the treeline. She drew energy from the ground itself, harnessing the earth's power through her feet, out her hands. No sooner did she try to meld that power with hers then she felt a blast of icy air course back through the portal, and barreling through it came a wizened, spindly man, howling and bellowing up a gale that spun out in a frosty spiral.

"He's a zephyr!" she called out to Ressler, who was brawling with a large brute that looked as though he was crossed with an ogre.

"I can't help you," Ressler ground out, even as the gargantuan man flipped him backwards into an ancient oak. Ressler's eyes flashed a fierce red and his nails grew to talons, clawing and shearing into the arms of the massive man.

Hither and yon, members of the tac team bore down on the rest of the crowd, but the swirling icy tornado threatened to tear through the golden magical net and release everyone from the thrall fencing them in below.

"What business is this of yours?" wheezed the grey man in the center of the storm as he lashed out a blast of wind at Samar. "I'll have your entire department shut down, you brazen little gnat. I will _crush_ you."

Samar's hair whipped around her as she staggered back a step. She could not hold the portal and pit her own powers against him. He was a veritable force of nature itself and she merely a being of it. She licked the side of her mouth, tasted blood from the sting of his magic against hers.

"Ressler! I can't hold him!"

Suddenly a blast of thunder from behind her made her stagger forward again, nearly knocking her to her knees. A solid punch of energy added itself to hers and she felt the zephyr in his whirlwind suddenly halt as the wind froze every water particle surrounding him. His angry visage looked out at her from the frozen tornado, effectively trapped in his own power. Something strongly aquatic pulsed with her power of air and melded with it to hold him there.

"It won't hold him for long," said Reddington's solid voice just behind her, "but it should help until the tac team can converge on him and extend the net. How are you holding up, Donald?" he raised his voice over the din of auction-goers screaming for release and aimed a cheeky grin at Donald, who drug the offending ogre by one massive arm. His eyes had dulled to a soft garnet sheen, but his body still flexed with angry energy, his talons sharp as his teeth. Ressler aimed one decidedly tempted snarl at Reddington as though he would like nothing better than to tear into the older fae, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. As he exhaled, his nails retracted and muscles shrank from stretching the seams on his dark suit. By the time he reached Reddington and Navabi, he was back to normal. Red and Navabi both stood, glowing in ephemeral light—one silver, one golden, each to their respective energies. The Grey Man of water, his aura reflecting the stormy color of his eyes, and Samar as daeva, glowing with a dusky color that set off her tawny skin. The magicks pulsed around them as they winged their energy into holding the powerful man behind them in a prison of their and his making.

"Where's Keen?" Ressler queried.

"Safe," Red said simply, "with Dembe. Let's get them all out here, shall we? And we'll discuss."


	7. Chapter 7

Cht 6

Liz said not a word as the Mercedes glided down the highway, dense forest on either side as thick as the silence in the car itself. She had lapsed into contemplation after peppering Dembe with questions on Reddington's whereabouts. He said not a word about it, preferring to let Reddington do the explaining himself later, but when Lizzie had dressed in the fog and found her way back to the car, only Dembe had been there. The fog itself quickly dissipated even as Dembe ushered her into the waiting vehicle with a low-key sense of urgency. He was tense, she noticed, but would not say why or where Reddington had gone. Or how. And Reddington was simply not there. Had he been picked up by someone else along the highway? Could he disappear at will? Strangely though, it felt as though he was there with them until they left. Now she could not sense him at all. What did it mean?

* * *

Back at the Post Office, Ressler, Samar and the tac team ushered in all of the auction attendees, screening them and getting them booked and processed. Red stood watching the box somberly however as Flynt manifested himself as a somber mist, with momentary flashes of annoyance at his magickal restraints. For magickal the box was, not only built from the DARPA materials, but also reinforced with meteoric ore – the otherworldly origins of the material making it impervious to beings of this natural world. Red knew, as he had experienced it firsthand, that the box also contained a geas over it, tamping down the magickal energies of whomever it held. Like a lead blanket weighing on the detainee at all times. Still he felt no sympathies for the man inside. Long had he trafficked and traded in flesh peddling, auctioning off goblins and half-goblins in illicit trade, selling black market meteoric iron ore to arms dealers who would build contraband weapons for underground wars. He was one very ancient, yet very powerful thug in a bespoke suit. The irony of that thought struck Reddington, and he chuckled darkly.

Cooper stalked over to him, nodding curtly, "he's a nasty piece of work. He and his kind. But where is Keen?"

Red smiled slightly, warmed by Cooper's concern for his young agent. "Calm yourself, Harold. She'll be along. Dembe's bringing her back even as we speak. I felt she could use a little… field trip… stretch her legs, so to speak."

"She needs time to adjust to her Awakening," Cooper's rough voice softened with sympathy. "There's so much for her to learn yet."

Red nodded, "exactly why I left her out of the melee today. She'll have to learn a bit, adjust to her powers better. She'll take to it quickly though, she's bright enough. Strong enough. She'll do just fine, Harold. Don't worry."

* * *

When Liz finally arrived home that night however, it was to find more questions. As she traipsed through the door after picking Agnes up from the sitter's, she found a large font with several lotuses blooming in the pool of water it contained. A short note in a familiar script sat next to the display on her end table, " _a symbol of female power… and tomorrow we visit the source of yours. -R_ "

Liz gave one despairing sigh as Agnes reached for one of the blooms. Dropping her cheek to the baby's soft curls, Liz whispered, "what is he up to now? And why can't Mommy get one weekend in peace, huh?"

That next morning Liz traipsed out of her room only to stop short at the entrance of the living room, a shriek lodged in her throat. There he sat, resplendent in a chocolate suit that set off the bright clear blue of his smiling eyes. Dembe, off to the side, stood silent, his hands crossed. He simply nodded at Liz.

"Will you ever learn to knock?" she spat, closing her eyes and praying for patience. He smiled winningly when she opened them again. "I have to get Agnes ready to go to the sitter's and a million things to do before I'm ready to go haring off with you anywhere."

"Get dressed and take a breath, Lizzie," Red said soothingly, "coffee's brewing and Agnes will likely sleep a little longer yet. We'll stop for breakfast on the way."

"On the way where," she groused as she turned back toward her bedroom.

"To meet your grandfather."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am well aware that Dom seems to live in a heavily wooded area and nothing like a coastal area, but… artistic license.**

Cht 7

Once again Liz found herself in a car, off to parts unknown with Reddington and Dembe. The one difference this time, however, was the addition of Agnes. Red deemed it important that she come along and volunteered to sit in the back with her. He kept one hand tucked over the edge of the car seat, so she could hang on to his fingers as she slept through the drive, her little belly full of pancakes from the diner Red had insisted on for breakfast. Liz listened idly to the smooth jazz playing over the car's stereo system, wondering what was in store for her at the end of their journey.

A grandfather. She could not even imagine. Where had he been? And why had they never met before?

Liz wondered, when she realized they were approaching Annapolis, if they would veer toward the Naval Academy there, but to no avail. Dembe steered the car eastward to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. She gazed over the water wistfully, itching to get out there and tread through the brackish waves. She could taste the salt on the air and sniffed appreciatively.

They passed signs for Kent Island, Wye Island and finally curved southward toward Prospect Bay before coming to a stop at a remote home on a shady lane set back from the tidal lowlands.

* * *

She got out of the car as Red unfastened the carrier to bring inside, Dembe easing out of the front, as a grey-haired, grizzled man stepped out of the doorway to the house. Seeing him sparked a vague wave of recognition that was enough to bring tears to Liz's eyes. " _Dedushka_ ," she said softly.

He came to the edge of the porch and propped a hand on one of the columns there, narrowing his gaze at Lizzy as if gauging her reaction.

" _Dedushka_?" she said a bit louder, yet still tentatively.

Something warmed in his gaze, and he smiled slowly back at her and nodded once, " _eto pravil'no, Masha. Ya tvoy ded_."

He planted his feet and stood straight when he saw Red and Dembe approaching, narrowing his gaze again, this time as if in challenge. "And what have you got there," he asked in English.

"This is…," Liz swallowed at the knot that rose in her throat, "Agnes. She's my daughter."

Liz finished on a whisper as Red lifted the carrier for Dom to see, pulling back the convertible top to show the sleeping baby. "She looks like you," he said thickly to Liz, "when you were that size."

Dom sniffed once, snuffling back the tears she had seen spring to his eyes and shuffled back into the house waving them in.

"Come in, come in," he ushered them to sit. "I'm not set up for company, but we'll see what we've got. Perhaps a…cinnamon tea?"

He directed his question at Liz who perked up.

"Yes, I'd love that!"

"I recall."

He nodded gruffly and shuffled off to the kitchen, but she couldn't hold them back anymore. The tears came, and Liz rushed in behind him, catching him as he turned. Dom folded his arms around her as she sniffled tearfully into his flannel shirt. She could smell the pipe tobacco and wood smoke, with a touch of spice. This was what home smelled like, she thought.

They held on for a long moment, he dipped his face to her hair and muttered comforting words in Russian about having to keep her safe, before he cleared his throat and pulled away to put the kettle on.

When Dom suggested they walk later after lunch, she had no expectations other than to traipse through the wooded acreage behind the house and let Dom fill her in on whatever he didn't want to say in front of Reddington. Ten minutes in the trees thinned out and the ground grew sandier, spotted with coastal grasses that eventually gave way to the salty flats that opened wide onto the bay.

He stood hipshot, fingers tucked in his pockets, gazing out over the water. "So," he began slowly, glancing sideways at her, "you've Awakened, I'm told."

"What has Reddington told you about it?"

"Not much."

Dom barked out a grim laugh that warmed to a chuckle. "That's his curse. Telling someone just enough to keep them going, but not enough to know what to do with it!"

Liz laughed for the first time that afternoon. If that wasn't Reddington, she didn't know what was. And if anyone could give her answers, Dom could.

"Was my mother like us?"

"Of course she was! Of course she was, Masha," he nodded. "Where do you think you got it from, eh? Your mother, her mother, me…"

"You?"

He barked his laugh again and ambled six steps toward the water's edge. In that six steps, his body morphed, rounded out, his gait changing from an ambling limp to a harp seal's waddle as he wriggled out of the shirt, his pants discarded a little ways back. He turned and looked back at an astonished Lizzy, barking again as a seal before shuffling straight into the water and gliding away across the surface. She watched her grandfather flip and float along the water for a while, but watching him made her wonder and her mind turn. Could she do that? Could her mother? When she changed, it was never into another animal. For the most part she stayed herself, only in mermaid form. How did that work?

Watching him raised more questions than it gave answers. She wandered off across the salt flats, content to breathe the air there. It was refreshing, bracing to her as being in the water. It was a while later before he joined her, plucking at bits of grass that clung to his clothes from being dropped on the ground.

"How is it you can do that, but I can't?"

"Different type of water beings exist everywhere, Masha," Dom replied. "Your father was a merman, your mother a selkie, like me. I suspect it's why he went for the Navy. I don't see him joining the Army, do you?"

Liz smiled. It did make a sort of sense. She imagined that lots of beings like that gravitated to jobs that associated with their element.

"Do you know what happened to my mother?" she asked suddenly.

"What did Reddington tell you? Left her clothes on the beach…never to be seen again?"

"Did she just…?"

"She needed a neutral place. Double-crossed the Americans and the Russians, cabal after her…she couldn't stay here. With them thinking she was dead, they never looked for her, and assumed you were gone too. That that's what drove her over the edge. It helped sell it, said Red. And so it did."

"She's alive," Liz breathed.

"She is."


End file.
